Once Upon a Boosh
by Beechwood0708
Summary: A good ole Boosh fairy tale. Vince, a displaced boy princess, is threatened with an abusive marriage to restore his family's honour, and has to find his true love to save himself.
1. Keys to the Kingdom

Once upon a time there was a beautiful but very unusual kingdom, secluded away between four mountains, the existence of which

My Boosh fairy tale! Eeee, aren't you excited? Because I am.

I might be a bit sad.

But I like fairy tales. Muchly. And I want to give Hattie something to read when she gets back.

But I'm dedicating this to Adele, who I mentioned this to first. Luv ya huni :-D

Not enormously fairy talish in this first chapter, but it gets more magical in the next. Rated for later chapters.

Btw, do y'all agree that Bainbridge would be the most horrible person to be married to in the Booshverse? If you can think of anyone worse, let me know.

Disclaimer: Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding actually come from this world and they gave us the Mighty Boosh. I didn't create nothing. I am merely their adoring slave.

* * *

Once Upon a Boosh

Once upon a time there was a beautiful but very unusual kingdom, secluded away between four mountains, the existence of which was well-known, but sometimes only with the status of legend, and though there were some who claimed to have met it's inhabitants, usually people of various degrees of royalty, who were invited fairly often, there were others who refused to believe that it existed at all. The kingdom was wealthy and happy and beautiful and generally lovely, but it was also very volatile, and violence on the streets was becoming an increasingly urgent problem.

The kingdom was ruled by the large and powerful family of Moon, who had come to power only twenty-one years before. They had once been the second-most important noble family of the kingdom, as several members claimed to have links to the Old Kings, and insisted that they were the rightful rulers. Recently, they had decided to act on them. Which naturally didn't please the royal family at the time.

The family they had replaced was that of Noir, generally very regal and extravagant people, who were understandably pissed off that the throne that had been theirs for over two thousand years had been taken by the Moons, of all people. There hadn't been much love between the two families at any point in history. The Moons felt that the Noirs were terrible rulers and squandered the kingdom's wealth on their own personal whims, and the Noirs thought the Moons were pedantic and ineffectual.

The Moons changed a lot when they came to power, and, admittedly, a lot of it was for the benefit of the kingdom. Certainly more money went into public services and less into Princess Monique's wardrobe. Unfortunately, jazz clubs began to spring up everywhere, which most people, under the influence of the Noirs, had come to regard as demonic squealing. Even more unfortunately, it gave large groups of angry Noirs a place to hide in the shadows, guaranteed a sizeable group of Moons to pounce on. Then the problems arose that the Moons were in general considerably bigger built than the Noirs, and many Noirs developed a penchant for beautifully designed but potentially lethal knuckledusters.

But it was another change brought about by the Moons that really shocked the Noirs to the core: Exile. Whatever could be said about the Noirs, things that included that they tiled their rooms with mirrors, that they might stab your eyes out if you saw them on a bad hair day, and that they thought poverty was a venereal disease, it also had to be said that they loved their kingdom. And for them, being exiled from that kingdom was too terrible a punishment, even for someone who cut off someone else's face; this being something that had never actually happened, but which most of the little Noirs had had nightmares about at some point.

It seemed at first that exile was simply an empty threat, as for many years nothing was heard of it. Then one of the Moons' own sons was exiled for dissenting. The Noirs had immediately declared that if that man ever returned to the kingdom, he would be more than welcome in the House of Noir.

But this wasn't likely to happen, so the Noirs concentrated on elevating themselves back to royal status. And the best way they could think of just happened to be one of their favourite pastimes- marriage.

The former Queen had been blessed with only one child. And she didn't think she had been blessed at all. Princess Vince Noir was, quite frankly, brainless. And, worse than that, he was choosy. Though she would have liked her only child to have something up in his mindbox to make him into something more than a walking mannequin, the Queen might have been happy if Vince could be appeased with outfits and makeup and shiny things until a suitable royal match could be found for him, and then could be sent away to restore the family glory, father or, as was more likely, adopt lots of children, and be someone else's problem. But somehow the pretty young princess had gotten the idea into his head that twelve minutes of knowing someone was not long enough to consider proposing marriage. And by twelve minutes, most of the people invited to meet the princess had either decided that he was an insufferable airhead or realised that he wasn't actually a girl.

Despite his head being filled with glitter, his title often confused the young princess.

"Mama," he would ask whenever he wanted the answer reaffirming, which was quite often and drove his mother insane, "why am I a princess instead of a prince?"

"Because none of your suitors ever believe you're a boy," was the most common answer.

"Why not?" Vince asked one day.

His mother just stared at him and pointed out the obvious. "You're wearing a dress."

"I've got trousers on underneath," Vince reasoned.

His reward was an exasperated smack round the head.

At the time, the Queen was rather put out that her feminine son had driven away yet another potential husband. The prince of a kingdom pleasingly far away had been invited over to meet him, and they had actually taken to each other quite quickly. The Queen was enthusiastic about the match. The prince was very handsome, and seemed patient and tolerant, which you needed to be if you were going to live with Princess Vince. But it turned out there was one thing he wasn't tolerant of.

The thought of spending one night, let alone the rest of his life, with another male disgusted him.

And, like so many others, when he had found out before the engagement had been made official that Vince wasn't a young lady, he had ran.

The Queen stalked off, wondering when her son was finally going to get his act together and accept one of his suitors, or when she'd be able to find someone who didn't mind marrying an impossibly feminine walking glitterball and who wasn't a straight man or a lesbian.

Howard looked to the sky, where that strange glittering purple vapour was circling above him yet again. He had been there for years, watching it go, off and on, sometimes there, light, insubstantial and mystifying, sometimes not. The sky seemed empty without it. It wasn't blue. It was white, always white, too white. Sometimes it turned a little silvery, and then it was difficult to differentiate the sky from the ice against which he lay.

Ice, ice, everywhere, the ground, the mountains, the ledges. Cracks in the floor, all made of ice thousands of feet deep. Tall pillars and towers of ice, sticking up like tombstones or worn-down fangs. He didn't know how they formed or why they were there, but sometimes at night he thought he could see them glowing.

He leant back against the column and thought, as he had been since he came there. Surely this place should be colder, he thought. But it never had been. Sometimes, in a fit of rebellion against the no one else who was there, he would walk around naked for days, and the ice and the wind never bothered him. He sat on bare ice and leaned against more of it, and it had no ill effect.

He sighed. What was this place? How could this ice be natural? And if there was no one there, then why could he hear chimes, always, through the days and nights, now, tinkling softly through the chill, so ever-present and calm they were almost part of the air.


	2. Things Written in the Stars

Chapter 2 already because I love you.

There is magicness here, yes, lots of cool fantasy creatures, and could that be the beginnings of a plot? Yes it is.

Bainbridge's empire is named after Matt Berry's second album Opium because I honestly couldn't think of anything better.

And I wrote a Moon monologue, but it's really really short. I haven't done him before. Oo, I feel like one of the gang now.

Enjoy please :-)

* * *

The former Queen read her letter again, a grin spreading over her stunning features

The former Queen read her letter again, a grin spreading over her stunning features. In a rare moment of glory, she threw back her head and laughed in pure joy. She put the letter down and ran through the corridors of the manor to her son's bedroom.

"Vince!" she called, bursting in without knocking. "Good news! There's another suitor coming to see you, a good one. A very rich, very powerful man who's inherited his entire kingdom very recently and has no lover to rule with him."

The only response she got from her son, who was still in bed at half past noon and probably would be for a good while yet was a muffled "mmmff".

She strode forward and pulled the covers off him, the only thing that could spur her lazy son to movement at this time of day, and, as expected, caused a rush of desperate movement and an almost desperate cry of "Mama!" as Vince leapt forward and tried to wrestle his covers back off her.

"Look at me!" his mother shrieked. "Vince! Listen to me and you can have them back!"

Vince calmed, albeit moodily, and the Queen pushed the covers back over to him, and he pulled them back around himself and leaned up against his massive pile of pillows, pouting.

"Now then, darling, the King Dixon Bainbridge of the Opius Empire has taken quite an interest in you," she began.

She noticed that her son was leaning blankly against his pillows with his head turned to the side and a glazed look on his face. She reached out her hand and slapped his cheek.

"Vince, are you listening to me?" she snapped.

"Ow, Mama, you know I'm no good at geography; I don't know where anything is," her son protested.

The Queen sighed. "South-west of here, about three hundred miles away."

She watched Vince's eyes roll back into his head in concentration.

"It doesn't matter where it is," moaned the Queen. Her voice hardened, becoming stern and authoritative. "It just matters that you're marrying the King and you're going to live there. He's coming in three days, and you had better make a good impression."

She marched back to the door, then turned back to her son. "And get up before lunchtime," she snapped.

* * *

The deep night brought sleeplessness to Princess Vince Noir. He'd been lying awake thinking for hours now. Thinking kept him up a lot. He couldn't rest until he'd made sense of things, and his days were so full of proposals and prettiness and Things that he never had time to do it in the day. So he lay awake until the early hours every night trying to figure out his life, and then eventually fell asleep, his escape from everything, and then he got shouted at by his mother for sleeping into the afternoon.

Tonight even thinking seemed too big for him. He would never be able to get to sleep tonight. He got up and crossed to the window. It was a beautiful night outside. Mostly clear, but just a light covering of cloud. If he were to go out tonight, it would be just enough to obscure the moon so he couldn't be seen, but it would give him just enough light to see where he was going.

Opening the window and sitting on the windowsill, he groped blindly for the ivy growing up the walls. He found it, and clasped his hands around a thick vine, and began his slow descent. Careful to be quiet, he reached the ground. He slipped along the long carriageway and pushed between the gates and out onto the street, guided by moonlight.

"_I'm the Moon, what is… guiding the princess, what isn't a girl… I think. But he wants to be secret, so I better shut up. I'm the Moon."_

The princess eased himself silently through the streets, coming eventually to the city walls. The gates were closed at night, and guarded, and he knew he'd be punished if they caught him sneaking out, but it didn't really matter anyway. His mother would be the one punishing him, so the family would be spared the public humiliation of a lawbreaking heir, and she could never really be arsed with it.

The gates were easy enough to sneak out of, if you knew how. And Vince did know how; he'd done it many times before. There was a spot between two guard posts, shrouded in darkness, where some bricks had been loosened, and could be removed to create a tunnel just wide enough to accommodate a skinny person like Vince. Vince crept over, removed the stones carefully, and squeezed through.

Once out beyond the city limits, he held out his arms and basked in the feeling of the open wind. He took a deep breath in, the let it out, beginning as a scream, before it settled into a single long, melodious note. He grinned and ran down the hill, diving over shrubs and bracken as he ran further away from the city. He loved it here. Not many people knew about it, because they never thought of what might be outside the gates. It was an open moorland, full of thick bushes and ferns and low-lying plants, most of which were full of thorns. And there were animals too; beautiful little sprites with long horns, fairies with bright wings, miniature dragons with scales that shone in the moonlight, serpents that danced, and countless other unnameable creatures. And even, if you waited long enough, very patiently, you might see a stunning majestic unicorn. Vince had seen one once, but only once. He often wanted to wait and see if he could see her again, but it had been very late when he saw her before, and he had almost been caught sneaking back into his home.

He sprinted along the flat ground, leaping yet more undergrowth, until he came to a particularly deadly-looking patch of thorns. He stopped and knelt down before it, searching through the spiked branches without touching. After a moment, he caught a movement within the thorns. And then, she emerged.

She was a sprite, and an unusually friendly one. She would always come to meet him when he came, when most sprites shrank away, mistrustful. The fairies were far more trusting than they were, but she always trusted him. She grinned at him from the top of the thorn bush, golden hair shining a dull yellow in the muted moonlight, the horn in the centre of her forehead reflecting the light like a needle. He didn't know her name, because she couldn't speak, at least not in words he could understand.

He held out his hand and she hopped onto it and ran up his arm to his shoulder, the tiny impacts of her feet the only indicators that her six-inch body was there at all.

"Shall we go and meet some friends?" he asked her.

He heard her excited little high-pitched giggle by his ear, and set off again at a run, confident that she would hold her position on his shoulder. As he ran, the fairies began to emerge and flew along with them, circling them, ducking and diving and playing with each other. A sapphire-blue dragon ran along the ground at Vince's feet, occasionally leaping up to snap at the fairies. About ten metres or so to his side, a pure white puma, with its fur shining magnificently, ran alongside, graceful and breathtaking.

He felt the sprite's hands and horn pressing on his cheek, and he slowed to a stop next to a twisting bush covered in large leaves and small white flowers. The sprite stepped elegantly from his shoulder and onto a thin branch, and Vince fell back onto the ground, revelling in magic and his own exhaustion. He gazed up at the sky, where the moon was watching through the clouds, silly smile on his face, and where, lower down, a few fairies had broken away from the rest, and were leading the little dragon, who had now taken to his wings, in a playful aerial dance over the moor. They fell and tumbled, and he twisted and followed them in loops and spirals. Vince laughed.

He heard a sound from above his head, trying to get his attention, and he looked up to see his sprite leaning over on her branch, looking down to him. He sat up and looked at the mischievous grin on her face, returning it momentarily before she turned away to the fairy who had landed on the same branch. The sprite leaned forward and whispered in the fairy's ear, one hand resting on her rounded face, the other on her waist. The fairy laughed, and her smiling face seemed to be a light source of its own. They both turned back to look at him, sporting the same wicked grins, looking at him a moment longer than necessary to make sure they had his full attention. Then they leaned in and kissed each other, the fairy's arms wrapped around the sprite's slender shoulders, and the sprite immersing one hand in the fairy's auburn hair. Vince watched transfixed as they pressed themselves closer in to each other, pale skin meeting pale skin, their tiny eyes closed in passion. They broke apart, their arms remaining softly around each other for a moment, before the fairy flew back into the air, and the sprite jumped down into the bush.

Grinning from their show, Vince turned his gaze back to the deep velvet sky. The dragon was hovering still now, and several fairies had gone. He felt one touch down on his shoulder, and he turned to smile at her. She took a strand of his hair, and, stretching up, began to braid it intricately, a look of deep concentration on her face. Vince watched her face and her arms, until another fairy, a male, flitted down close by them, and said something to her in their own language. She let go of his hair, and he felt her gentle tiny kiss on his cheek before she joined her friend in the sky.

He fell back, tired now, and he knew he could have slept if he didn't have to get back home. He lay there for a while, how long he couldn't say, and then eventually, when all the creatures had retired to wherever it was they went during daylight hours, he pulled himself from the floor and set off, alone, at a slow walk back to the city walls.

"Evening," came a monotone voice, very close to him.

Unable to help himself, Vince involuntarily squealed and jumped back, almost falling, when he realised that someone, without him even noticing, had managed to sneak up on him until he was actually standing right next to him.

Then he was glad it was still dark, because he was going embarrassingly red to see that this unseen assailant was barely five feet tall, standing relaxed, and more than likely stoned.

"Hello," he said.

"Didn't mean to scare you," said the other person, still entirely in monotone, with a sort of detached look on his face. He was definitely quite stoned, Vince decided.

"S'okay," replied Vince, smiling, and doing his best to make it look like it wasn't forced. "Who are you?"

"I'm Naboo, that's who," answered the other, with the air of someone repeating a catchphrase.

"Naboo? Are you that witch that lives by the city walls?" Vince asked.

"I'm not a witch, I'm a shaman," said Naboo, a hint of annoyance creeping into his neutral voice. "It's a completely different religion."

"Sorry," said Vince.

Hearing the apology, Naboo smiled, the first movement Vince had seen on his face since he had arrived. "S'alright," replied Naboo, his voice becoming less neutral and more happy-sounding as he spoke. "You're the former Boy Princess Vince, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Vince, praying in his mind that Naboo wasn't planning to kidnap him, or worse, tell his mother he'd been outside city walls.

He was in luck. Instead, Naboo just smiled again and pressed on Vince's arm, urging him to keep walking towards the city. Vince noticed the moonlight and the approaching dawn playing on the gold embroidery of his robe. It was a long robe, almost like a dress. Yes, Vince cheered internally, he wasn't the only one!

"There's things written in the stars about you," Naboo said to him.

"What d'you mean?" Vince asked.

"A prophecy," Naboo explained. "About the true love of the boy princess. That his true love will be the one person who knows what others never see."

"How do you know it's true?"  
"The signs are always true," Naboo told him, betraying no hint of ever having questioned this.

"How can you be sure?" Vince asked.

"It was a sign told me you'd be here tonight."

They walked a while in silence.

"Do you know what it is my true love'll know?" Vince asked eventually.

"Yep," said Naboo.

"Does that mean you could be my true love?"

Naboo laughed, mirthfully but not mockingly. "No, I'm an asexual."

"Doesn't that mean you can have your own babies?" Vince asked, slightly confused.

"No," replied Naboo.

"Oh…" Vince looked a little lost.

"Well, sometimes it does," Naboo explicated, "like with micro-organisms and that. But not in my case."

"Oh, okay," said Vince, satisfied with this information. Naboo grinned.

Vince sighed. "I'm supposed to marry this King Dixon Bainbridge. D'you reckon it'll be him?"

"I very much doubt it," Naboo said, urgency suddenly evident in his voice and worry on his face. "He's not one you wanna mess with. Do your best to get out of that one. You've got a talent for that." Naboo paused a while. "Oh, and do me a favour and don't mention my name with him," he added. "I owe his family a life debt, and being a bit immortal, that's quite hard to get out of."

Vince giggled, and looked ahead to see that they had reached the city walls.

"Go on," said Naboo. "Before it gets too light to go in without being seen."

"Thanks," Vince smiled, as Naboo turned to walk away. "See you later."

"Yeah, you will," Naboo called back.

Vince crawled back through his hole and replaced the stones. He snuck through the streets in the dim light of the oncoming dawn, squeezed back through the gates of the manor and climbed back up the ivy to his bedroom. He buried himself back under his covers and fell straight into sweet, untroubled sleep.


	3. Love and Marriage

Chapter 3, where it all starts getting nasty. This chapter contains stripping and whipping, but I've tried to focus on the evilness and the creep factor and to steer it as far away from getting sexualised, because it is pretty uncomfortable and I don't want this fic to only be accessible to people who are as perverted as I am.

But I'm thinking, for the sake of those who are so perverted, when I've finished this version, I might post it on Blue Boosh with a few X-rated scenes added in.

I really hope this doesn't offend anyone because I want to keep it T-rated, so if anyone's got a problem let me know and I'll edit it.

Warnings aside, this chapter also contains, in my strange little head at least, a very brief cameo from Richard O'brien as Vince's father, because that would be my dream. And while in my serious Boosh fanon Vince's dad is a dead aristocrat a la Secret History, in my multifandom crack thoughts his dad is the Reckless Rick persona from The Crystal Maze. I mean, think about it- he's a relatively small, skinny and unusual-looking but ever-so-sexy man, 31 years older than Noel Fielding, who can wear gorgeously tight trousers and leopard print and make it look absolutely stunning. So a sensible casting idea, I'd say.

But enough of me dreaming, here's the fic.

* * *

When Dixon Bainbridge arrived, Vince thought it was quite understated. He didn't have much of an entourage, just a few people he said he couldn't spare, and one he said he couldn't get rid of. One of them had very suspicious eyes that latched on to one thing and stared at it for ages before moving onto something else. Another wandered around looking fixated with the interior design. Vince had him down as a thief, but decided not to mention it. And then there was another who looked like a bit of a retard that the others were trying to keep hidden.

Despite the lack of ceremony, there was something about Bainbridge that suggested snobbery in the extremes. Perhaps it was the expression on his face, or the way his eyes flitted briefly but unmistakably critically around the room as he entered, or maybe it was just the way he held himself; a straight posture to elongate his body, a steadfast stance to make him seem strong and indomitable. But whatever it was, it unnerved Vince. This man presented himself as an enemy, not a marriage partner.

But if his parents shared any of his misgivings, they certainly didn't show it.

The former King greeted Bainbridge with a smile, while his wife looked at him like he was the saviour of the world. For her, Vince supposed, he probably was. And so Vince knew he couldn't let any of his fears show, and he greeted Bainbridge with a silent bow. It was an odd gesture, he'd been told, because he couldn't help but shift his weight onto one foot and take the other behind him, making it look like some odd hybrid between a curtsey and a bow. His mother had often told him that if he didn't want to be mistaken for a girl, then he'd have to sort that out. But Vince had never bothered. It was a reflex; why fight it?

Bainbridge clasped his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, keeping his eyes unwaveringly on Vince's as he did so. "Charmed," he said, keeping Vince's hand in his own, and slipping the other lingeringly around his waist. From anyone else, Vince would have found the whole thing rather alluring, but coming from Bainbridge it was quite frightening.

The four of them went for a private dinner, something separate having been arranged for Bainbridge's servants. Throughout it, Vince could feel Bainbridge's eyes all over him, and had his mother not warned him not too, he would have tried to be as unelegant as possible to stop him staring.

Vince couldn't make himself concentrate on the conversation. He became aware several times of uncomfortable silences where he'd been expected to answer and had to ask someone to repeat themselves, earning him dirty looks from his mother from across the table. Eventually, the talk turned to the dower. Vince knew his mother didn't really need one, because they were still rich and he knew she just wanted rid of him, but being the woman she was, he knew she'd try and get as much as she could out of Bainbridge.

"I'm quite happy to pay you anything," Bainbridge was saying. "I'm adamant that I want this marriage to happen as much as you do."

"Oh, really?" the Queen asked, evidently quite surprised.

"Nothing could make me change my mind."

"Even if I were to confirm that the Princess is actually a boy?"

"A boy?" Bainbridge asked, surprise covering his features. He looked over again at Vince, and Vince shuddered under his leering eyes. Bainbridge smiled. "Of course not. I'm rather fond of the presence of a boy in my bed."

"And that he can be a little highly strung at times?"

Indignant, Vince had opened his mouth to object to this statement, but the look in his mother's eyes scared him back into silence.

"No, that's not a problem," Bainbridge was replying to her. "I've always found the feisty ones are so much fun to tame."

Vince felt so nauseous he had to stop eating.

"Well, if you'd like to discuss the dower later-"

"Yeah, just one problem with that," Vince interrupted. "I'm not marrying him."

His parents were both staring at him, their expressions identical, torn between fury and mortification.

"Vince-" his mother began.

"Don't worry about it," Bainbridge said, stunning her into silence. "I'm sure I'll be able to talk him into it. In fact, why don't we discuss the dower first?"

"Well, of course," replied the Queen. She rang a bell to call for a servant. "Escort the Princess to his room," she instructed when one arrived. "And make sure he stays there until his husband is ready for him."

Bainbridge and his parents left the room, the negotiations already begun, while Vince was chaperoned away.

* * *

It seemed like hours as he waited for someone to arrive, the servant's eyes constantly on him, leaving him with nothing to do but sit awkwardly in silence. He knew that this particular servant didn't like him very much either, so he couldn't buy his freedom with secreted kisses, or even with the promise of a blow job. So he sat, glaring at his nemesis, as his nemesis gloated over him.

But it still sent a shot of fear through his body when he heard Dixon Bainbridge approach. Bainbridge entered without knocking, and curtly dismissed the servant before he even glanced in Vince's direction.

"The fuck d'you want?" Vince asked sullenly, not getting up for him.

"Well," sneered Bainbridge. "You are a spirited little thing."

Vince just looked up at him and gave him a hollow, sarcastic smile. Bainbridge set the case he was carrying on Vince's bed and opened it. He took out a clear glass bottle with a small amount of brown liquid in it and poured some into a glass he found on Vince's bedside table.

"Here," he said, passing it to Vince. "I think you might like this."

"No thanks," replied Vince coldly.

"And might I ask why not?"

"I think you've spiked it."

Bainbridge gave an amused little laugh. "There's more inside that pretty head of yours than they gave you credit for," he said. "I was given the impression that you'd be a dense, passive little sex toy once I'd carried you off." He put the glass down and sat next to Vince, causing Vince to lean away from him. "But I'm so glad you're not."

Vince stood, not wanting to respond, and tried to walk away, but he was stopped by Bainbridge's firm grip around his arm. Bainbridge had stood to catch him, and he roughly pulled Vince closer until Vince's back was pressed into Bainbridge's front. He felt Bainbridge's arm touch his body, stroking his flat stomach and his chest.

"Not bad," Bainbridge commented, pressing his hands closer to Vince's body. Abruptly, he spun Vince round so he almost fell. "Take it off," he ordered. "Let me look at you."

"Get fucked," was Vince's response.

Bainbridge just laughed. "I prefer it the other way round," he sneered. "Now are you going to take that top off or am I going to have to make you."

"Neither," Vince answered. "It's staying right on me where it is."

Bainbridge gave him the most evil smile Vince had ever seen. Then, without a movement of any other part of his body, he raised his hand and slapped Vince hard across the face. Vince stumbled backwards, his eyes going momentarily out of focus, and, once he had recovered his balance, he pressed a hand to his scorching cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mind couldn't find the words to come out.

"Take it off," Bainbridge repeated.

Nervously, almost shaking, Vince complied and slowly peeled his figure-hugging tunic from his body and stood there shirtless before Bainbridge.

Bainbridge looked him up and down, leering. "Not bad," he assessed. "A little skinnier than my usual tastes, but not a bad little specimen at all."

Vince stood still, masking his embarrassment behind a set face, though he could feel that his unslapped cheek was almost as red as the one that had been struck.

He noticed that Bainbridge's eyes had strayed downwards.

"Those too," Bainbridge instructed.

"No," Vince objected.

Bainbridge stepped forward to him, and thinking he was about to be slapped again, Vince raised his arms to defend himself. But it came as a surprise when the blow fell a lot lower than expected, and Vince received a shove in the ribs that sent him sprawling back onto his bed. In a flash, Bainbridge was on him with his hands forcing themselves into the waistband of Vince's tight trousers, which, practically painted on though they might be, were no match for Bainbridge's adamant grip, and they were on the floor in under a second. As he felt Bainbridge's hands return to pull at the waistband of his underpants, Vince cried out and did his best to aim a kick at Bainbridge's face, but because of his position was unable to do any better than an awkward blow to Bainbridge's side, which Bainbridge barely reacted to. It seemed only microseconds before Vince found himself able to move again, and was lying back, naked, with Bainbridge standing back over him, leering obscenely.

"And that's not bad either," Bainbridge smirked. He took another step back. "Get up," he ordered.

Vince obeyed, but only because he knew he would be less vulnerable on his feet.

Bainbridge's reaction was another terse command. "Turn around."

Vince hesitated, but on seeing a trace of wild anger pass across Bainbridge's face, he tried to obey as much as he could without making himself overly vulnerable. So he turned himself slightly to the side, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Bainbridge over his shoulder.

This seemed to be good enough for Bainbridge, who walked right up to the back of him. Vince tensed in shock as he felt a pair of intrusive, squeezing hands grasp at his buttocks. "And this is gorgeous," Bainbridge whispered.

Outraged, Vince shoved back with an elbow, hitting Bainbridge hard in the belly, which caused the heftier man to double forward, and from the sounds of it had probably knocked the wind out of him.

"You little bastard," Bainbridge seethed.

Vince was shoved forward again, this time hitting his head against the bedpost. His hands were forced forward, and he felt the rough chafe of the cord for the bedcurtain being tied tightly around his wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shrieked.

A curt "shh" was all the response Bainbridge offered.

Fear flooded through Vince as his mind slipped onto unpleasant images of what might be coming to him next. It surged through him again as he heard the sound of a belt being unfastened.

_Crack!_

He screamed.

"Shut your mouth," Bainbridge snapped.

Vince leaned, shocked, against the bedpost, burning and breathing heavily. It passed through his mind that at least this wasn't _quite_ as bad as he had feared, but it fucking stung like hell.

He shrieked again as the next blow fell, but Bainbridge carried on unperturbed. Crack followed crack followed crack followed crack, as Vince began to struggle and try to break free. He was knocked about the head, sending it smacking into the bedpost again, before his torturous whipping continued. Eventually, the loud crack was all he registered, the pain being too much now to differentiate between the moment the belt struck and the moment it was pulled away. It was only the silence that let him know Bainbridge had stopped.

Vince had tears streaked down his face, and his breathing came in sharp uneven bursts. When Bainbridge stepped up to his side Vince wanted to swear, and to curse, and to spew insults at him, but he couldn't release the words into the tense air.

Bainbridge's tone was as casual as if they had just met. "I've told your mother we'll be married before I leave, and I'll be taking you home with me. I think leaving you here for a while should help you come round to that idea."

With the gentle click of the door, he was gone. Vince wept.

* * *

It felt like days he stood there, humiliated, his back aching from leaning over, face sore with tears, and backside burning, before Bainbridge returned to set him free. He found himself hanging onto the bedpost for support before Bainbridge pushed him, firmly but surprisingly gently, down onto the bed. The last thing he was aware of before he passed out was Bainbridge leaning over him and speaking in a voice that was so soft and calm that it made his words all the more horrifying.

"If anyone hears what I've done to you, you don't want to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get you home."

* * *

When his mother came in later to see how he was, he told her that everything was fine, and he had just been tired that evening. She kissed him on the forehead and told him she was proud of him for finally accepting a proposal, and then left softly for a sleep that would be far more restful than his.

He was worried, but he wasn't afraid. He had his own plan, and he had faith enough to hope it would work.


	4. The Final Night

When Vince awoke the night was pitch dark

When Vince awoke the night was pitch dark. He was shivering with cold, but nonetheless he pulled back the covers and exposed himself to the chill air. He still felt sore as he moved, and for a moment he was tempted to light up a lamp and check the damage in a mirror, but he had more important things to worry about. He dressed himself as warmly as he could, making sure to choose a pair of looser trousers to avoid causing himself discomfort, and finished off with a long white cloak. Then he climbed once again down the ivy and crept away from his home.

He rushed through the streets and reached the city walls, and it was only as he crept through the guard posts that he realised what a stupid idea it had been to wear white, and he was thankful that the moon had decided not to make an appearance tonight.

He removed the stones from the hole and slipped through, and not bothering to take in his surroundings, hurtled full pelt away from the city, the eyes of many creatures fixed upon him. He ran and ran until he was exhausted, but even then he looked back and realised he hadn't come so far from the city. Tired, he continued at a walk, loathing to hurry, but knowing that if he didn't he might not be home by dawn.

He walked and walked until he felt he was going to collapse. He knew from rumours and gossip that Naboo lived somewhere outside of the city, but Vince had seen no trace of either the shaman or his home. Tears began to well in his eyes, and he dropped to his knees and cried softly, knowing it would help nothing but feeling it was all he could do.

He felt a tiny touch on his face. He wiped his eyes and looked up, and saw his friend the sprite sitting on a branch near his head.

"Shh," she soothed, rubbing her minute hand ineffectually yet lovingly against his wet cheek. With a press on his face to tell him to watch her, she pulled away, stepped from branch to branch to the edge of the bush, and then leapt high into the air. Vince watched awestruck as her body shifted to fluid in mid-air, and expanded and solidified until she touched down as a tall and beautiful unicorn.

"It was you all along," Vince breathed, climbing to his feet and pressing his arms and face to her soft neck. He gazed over her, taking in her pure white fur and golden mane and long silver horn, which was almost eighteen inches long. She inclined her head and her blue eyes met his, and he threw his arms around her neck, stifling a sob. She knelt down for him, and he climbed up onto her back.

She set off at a gallop with no warning, and for a second Vince was afraid he would fall, but he trusted her and knew she wouldn't let him. He leaned forward onto her neck, with a hand either side, fingers just entwined with her silky mane. The wind blasted at his face, and he had to turn his head to the side in order to breathe, and even then his breaths were short, obstructed by fast-moving air. The unicorn charged at a patch of thorns and leapt over it. Vince wrapped his arms as far as he could around her neck and pressed his face into her mane. She landed smoothly on the ground again, and Vince sat up a little straighter, only to press himself back down again as she jumped another shrub. He kept his body flat to hers as she carried him across the moors, so smooth and rhythmic that, were he not aware of the wind in his face and the crash of her hooves, he would have been lulled into sleep.

She slowed gently to a stop, and Vince looked up. She had brought him to a small hut made of wood and bits of old metal, surrounded by reassuring homely touches like a stack of firewood and some farming tools, but also by strange things, like charms and objects Vince had never seen hanging from the door, and what looked suspiciously like some dead things hanging up around the side of the house.

Vince slipped from the unicorn's back and gave her a warm, grateful hug before he approached the door of the hut and knocked hesitantly. He heard a movement within, and looked back to the unicorn, only to see her disappearing back over the moor.

"Who is it?" asked a bleary, somewhat irate voice from the other side.

"It's me," Vince called back. "Princess Vince."

He heard the door being hastily unlocked, and when it opened he was covered in the warm glow of firelight and he felt Naboo's hand grip his wrist and pull him in.

"Come on," said Naboo, closing the door on the night behind him. "The moon give you any grief?"

"No," answered Vince. "He's been really quiet tonight. Don't think he's even there."

"Good. You wouldn't believe how many he's accidentally ratted in with his bloody running commentaries." Naboo smiled weakly. He looked tired as he welcomed Vince into the room. Vince could make out faint shadows under Naboo's dark eyes, though he wasn't sure whether they were bags or just smudged kohl. Regardless, his gait was weary, and his body seemed less upright that it had been the last time they had met. "What's the problem?" he asked as he sat down on the bed against one wall and patted the space next to him. "Sit down."

"No," Vince almost yelped, wincing at the thought. "Thank you."

Naboo looked at him critically. "What's up?" Naboo asked. His face darkened. "Has he been hitting you?"

Vince didn't need to say anything. He just dropped his eyes, and Naboo came rushing forward and pressed a worried hand on each of Vince's shoulders.

"The bastard," Naboo seethed. "Come on," he said, ushering Vince across the room to the bed and pulling him onto it, urging him onto his side. "Tell me what you need."

Vince took a breath in. he realised he was about to break into tears. "I just need to get away from him. Or to get him away from me. Or something."

Naboo smiled understandingly and squeezed his shoulder. "Okay, let me think…" Naboo's eyes rolled upwards, and after a moment he smiled. "Okay, there's only one way you can get away from Bainbridge, and that's with the help of your real true love. Now, I can't bring your true love to you; the universe doesn't work that way, but I can give you a spell that'll let you know who you're looking for."

"That sounds perfect," said Vince, smiling for the first time in hours. It made his face feel odd, after so many tears.

"I warn you though, it's not a nice process," cautioned Naboo. "It's dangerous, it's very risky, and even if you do it right, there's always a chance you won't be able to live with yourself afterwards."

"Whatever it is, I need it," pleaded Vince. "Just tell me what to do."

"Okay," replied Naboo. He took a breath, then looked Vince right in the eye. "Kill a man and cut off his face, then bury him in a secret place, without his face, for three days until all of his identity disappears from him. After three days, come back and dig him up. Then, close your eyes and kiss the skull until you hear your true love's voice telling you to open your eyes. When you do, you'll see your true love's face instead of the skull."

Vince stared at him, wide-eyed with shock.

"You don't have to do it," Naboo said quickly. "Just… if you need to…"

"No," said Vince. "No, I have to do it."

"If you're gonna do it, you've got to do it soon," Naboo warned him. "I don't think Bainbridge is going to stick around much longer."

Vince nodded. Naboo looked at him critically, almost pityingly.

"Do you have a knife?" he asked.

Vince shook his head.

Naboo got up and went to a table across the room, which was covered in all kinds of shamanic oddments, including what looked to Vince like a human skull. He returned with a small, thin bronze knife inlaid with silver, with a leering skull carved into the handle, entwined with twisted snakes. He passed it carefully into Vince's hands, and Vince held it warily, staring at it like it was going to shatter in his hands.

"Be careful," said Naboo. He looked up at the sky through his one window. "Come on, it's nearly dawn. You need to go."

Vince nodded and got up. Holding the knife carefully under his cloak, he let Naboo usher him to the door. "Thanks," he said.

Naboo just smiled, sadness evident in the expression. "Goodnight, Vince."

"Goodnight."

Naboo closed the door, and Vince was alone. The unicorn had gone, but he could see the walls of the city, and thought he could make it if he hurried. The moon was still absent but the sky was paling, and as Vince began his hike back towards the city, he wondered, if anyone were to spot him, how he would look. Would he still be almost invisible to them, in the semi-darkness, or would he look like a fleeting white ghost out wandering until the dawn broke?

But no one did see him, and he reached home again in safety.

The door opened at just gone ten-thirty the next morning, and Vince buried his face in the pillows, the light of the sun stinging his eyes.

"Get up," his mother requested.

Vince grunted in response and pressed his face harder into the pillows. "Why this early?"

"Because we need to get started on your wedding preparations, don't we," his mother smiled, looking down at him. "And do you really think Dixon will appreciate you being in bed half the day when you go back with him?"

"Probably," Vince muttered, just quietly enough for his mother not to hear him.

She looked down and regarded him. "Are you still tired?"

Vince nodded weakly.

"You're not coming down with something are you?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Vince shook his head and managed a groggy reply. "Don't think so."

"I hope not," replied his mother. "The last thing I'd want is for you to be ill at your own wedding."

Vince let out an answering groan. His mother sat down on his bed and turned his face towards her.

"You've got bags under your eyes," she told him. "Make sure they're covered properly."

She went, pulling the covers down off his shoulders, leaving him to pull himself from the bed.

Vince brightened as the day went on. Some miraculous reserve of energy made itself known to him, and he didn't find himself unconsciously drifting off on his feet until the late afternoon. He acted the happy princess-bride as he was asked his opinion on rings, outfits, food and whatever else, and though his fatigue and the fact that he was wearing more makeup than usual were more apparent than he might like them to be, Bainbridge seemed to mistake this for broken spirit, and kept his arms possessively around Vince through the entire day in the belief that he was winning. The satisfaction of having fooled Bainbridge in this way was all that gave Vince the strength to endure it.

The idea had occurred to him at several points during the day to kill Bainbridge for his spell, but the entire day had passed in the company of Vince's parents, with servants from both parties coming in and out, and Vince was sure that trying to lure him into a private moment would seem suspicious.

Vince was disappointed. Bainbridge fucking deserved it.

So for most of the day, Vince's thoughts were preoccupied with who else it could be instead. The only people he could possibly have gotten alone to do the deed were the maids or menservants, any one of whom he could have asked to sort something out in his room, but the problem was he liked them all too much. They had always been wonderful to him, even when his mother wasn't, and betraying them like that was unthinkable. Twice he steeled himself up to ask one, but both times he backed away, unable to bring them into the terrible deed he had to do.

After dinner his parents noticed how tired he looked, and told him to go to bed early. He complied, feeling that he needed it.

He lay still, drifting into short waves of troubled sleep, plagued by dizzy, blurred visions of corpses and open wounds, a creature drinking blood, a creature with his face…

A knock on the bedroom door jerked him from the uncomfortable heat of sleep.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's Baudouis!" replied he man on the other side.

An uncomfortable feeling flashed in Vince's mind, and he knew he had to act on it.

"Come in!" Vince shouted out to him.

Baudouis, his father's brother, fair, and a little short even by Noir standards, entered Vince's room. "Hey, you," he smiled. "You feeling alright?"

"Yes, thanks," answered Vince. "Just a bit tired."

Baudouis nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I see. Just wanted to say congratulations on the engagement. How's the planning going?"

"It's not bad," Vince replied. "Papa says he'll pay for anything we want because of how short notice the wedding is. And because it's been a long time coming."

"Nice of him," said Baudouis, laughing softly. "Anyway, if you're feeling tired, I'll leave you to sleep."

He got up and headed for the door. Swallowing nervously, and trying to keep the tremor from his voice, Vince called him back.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Uncle Baudouis, do you want some of this?" He indicated the glass of spiked brown liquor that Bainbridge had offered him the night before, which still hadn't been moved. "Dixon gave it to me, to help me sleep, but I don't much like it."

There was an odd look of surprise on Baudouis' face, but it was quickly replaced with a wide smile. "Thank you," said Baudouis, returning to Vince's bed and taking the glass. He raised it to his lips and downed half of the drink in one go. "What is this?" he asked, before finishing the rest of it. He moved to put the glass back down on Vince's bedside table, but stumbled as he did so, having to catch himself on the bedpost. When he spoke again, there was a strong note of fear in his voice. "Vince, what was in that?"

Watching Baudouis struggle to keep his balance, Vince had no idea how much of the shame, horror and guilt that ran through his mind and his body was visible in his face as he stood up and smashed his uncle's head against the bedpost.

Baudouis slumped to the floor, out cold. Vince could have vomited. But he collected himself, and removed Naboo's knife from where he had hidden it under his mattress. He looked down at Baudouis' unconscious form, trembling at what he now had to do.

He stood stock still. He couldn't do it.

But he needed to. His wedding was due to be less than a week away, and he would need time for the spell to work.

It suddenly occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to do it here anyway. He wouldn't be able to hide the blood, and someone, or everyone, would know. He glanced at the window. It was the only way.

He picked up Baudouis' body and hauled it to the window. He felt a twinge of guilt about it, but considering he was about to commit murder anyway, he knew there was no point thinking about it, and he tossed the body out of the window, wincing at the sound of it hitting the ground.

He climbed out himself and descended the ivy. Once on the ground, he found Baudouis' body and dragged it around to the side of the house, hiding in the shadows where no one could see. He held out the knife.

He slit.

He felt warm blood pouring down his hands and up his wrists, and pulled them away instinctively. He retched. He retched again, and then he calmed himself. Then he looked back at the body and had to throw up behind a rosebush.

He leant on the wall, trembling. He had done it. He had killed a man. He had no choice now but to carry on and do the rest of the spell.

He waited until his strength came back to him, and then tied his scarf tightly around Baudouis' throat to stem the blood flow. Then he picked up the limp body, still feeling tiny, ragged attempts at breaths in his uncle's chest, and dragged it away, out of the gates, and through the streets. He stopped on the way to take a shovel from outside a hardware shop, and then continued to the hole in the city walls.

He removed the stones and pushed Baudouis' head and shoulders through. But he had a problem. Baudouis was definitely dead now, and his body had gone stiff with rigor mortis. And his arms were sticking down. The hole wouldn't be big enough for him.

Dropping Baudouis' body on the ground carefully, Vince picked up his shovel and, as quietly as he could, pushed the end underneath brick next to the hole. He pushed harder, jiggling it around a little, until the brick came loose. He prised it out, placing it carefully down with the others, and then started work on another. With two more out, he thought the hole might now be wide enough. Thankfully, it was.

He pushed Baudouis and the shovel through the hole before climbing through himself, and then picked both of them up as best he could and dragged them away from the city. The night was completely still, and the moon was absent from sight again. There were no creatures out tonight, either. Maybe they were just all asleep, or maybe, the voice in Vince's mind kept telling him, they didn't want to see him any more, now that he was dragging the body of a man he'd killed through their home.

Awkwardly, alone, and with almost no light to guide him, Vince dragged the body and the shovel along the moor, around or sometimes through the deadly patches of thorns. After what seemed like hours of walking, he came to a crossroads on an old dirt track, which was full of potholes and that he knew no one ever used. He set down the body and got to work with the shovel.

He dug as fast as he could, sweat dripping from his face and soaking into his top, catching the chill in the air. Eventually, he had a decent-sized hole.

And now for the part that had given him nightmares as a child. He had put this off, just because of the fear of it that came with the surname Noir. It almost seemed as bad as the murder itself.

He pulled the bloody knife out from where he had stuck it in his belt, knelt down over Baudouis' body, and barely able to keep his eyes open, he set it to his uncle's face and cut. As he felt a warm running sensation on his hands that made him feel sick again, he closed his eyes to the nauseating sight and did what Noir children had woken up screaming about in the night for generations.

The sight of the bare skull made him heave so hard he had to run to the nearest bush and throw what little was still left in him right into the middle of it. He stood up, and then the memory of the skull came back to him unbidden, and he threw hot, stinging bile where he had vomited moments before.

Swallowing and tasting the bitter heat in his throat, he disposed of Baudouis' face in the bush, and then went back to the corpse and pushed it into the hole, and shovelled dirt over it as though someone might come and find it any second. Satisfied that it was sufficiently covered, he left the shovel hidden and pelted his way back to the city, through the hole and straight back home.

Back in his bedroom, he stripped off his clothes, and saw the enormous scarlet stains all down the one side, and on the front, and on the sleeves. He would have to get rid of these clothes. But how? If he just sent them to be cleaned, the servants would see them. If he hid them in the garden, someone would see them. And if he buried them, a gardener would notice the disturbed earth. He had no way of disposing of them.

In the end, he hid them in the dank and dusty place under his bed, praying that no one would notice the smell. And as he tried to sleep that night, he couldn't escape the thought that he was sleeping on blood.

He was sleeping on Baudouis' blood.

Vince woke up to two contrasting needs; tiredness and hunger. He was still exhausted from the night before, and the night before that, and all the sleepless nights he'd had before that, and he wanted to snuggle up in his covers and sleep the day away. But he was also so starving after all the vomiting he'd done the night before that he had stomach cramps, and they were absolutely unbearable.

And then he remembered the blood under his bed, and suddenly he didn't want to stay there a moment longer.

His mother did a visible double take as she came into the breakfast room to find him already in there.

"Well look at you," she grinned. "Are you getting excited?"

Vince looked up blankly for a moment, and then remembered he was meant to be getting married. "Oh…" he said though a mouthful of food. "Yeah. Yes I am."

She smiled and sat down next to him. They ate in silence, and Vince began to relax as he realised his tiredness and his nerves weren't showing.

"Hey, morning," said another voice, as the door opened again. Vince felt a wave of fear running through him as he recognised the voice as that of his Aunt Eponine, Baudouis' wife.

The Queen smiled and returned the greeting, and Vince just managed a choked "hi".

"Neither of you have seen Baudouis, have you?" Eponine asked. "He didn't come to bed last night."

"No, not for a while," the Queen replied. Vince just shook his head, not trusting his voice to sound innocent.

"Oh, thank you," sighed Eponine. "I'll keep looking."

She left, and Vince found himself exhaling quite loudly. His mother thought nothing of it.

As the day continued and Baudouis still didn't appear, people began to feel panicked. The police were called in, and Vince woke up a little and managed to get his head together enough to feign ignorance. People kept telling him that it was probably nothing to worry about, and that it would be fine.

If only they knew.

Actually, Vince reflected, that phrase made no sense, because he didn't want anyone to know.

And then more bad news arrived: he'd only forgotten to close the hole in the wall up. It had been found by a guard, and plans were already being made to have it sealed. Shit. He needed that hole.

His day was spent on the distractions of police questions and the preparations for a wedding he hoped would still never go ahead. His night was sleepless, but at least he didn't have to sneak out that night, and he at least had the benefit of a full night's rest. The next day he was relieved to hear that the sealing of the hole in the wall had been foiled by teenage couples who had started using it to sneak out of a nighttime as he had.

No one seemed to suspect a thing, and he felt more and more relaxed as his three days past. On the final night though, when he knew he had to go back to Baudouis' corpse and dig him up, the trembled as much as he had when he'd first killed him.

He descended the ivy carefully, almost slipping once, and ran through the streets, even more used now to the shadows and the dark corners. The hole in the wall, despite now being common knowledge, didn't seem to be any more heavily guarded than it had been before, and he found he had no trouble sneaking out.

He tore through the moors, not looking to see what creatures might be watching him tonight, until he found the crossroads. He recovered his shovel from where he had hidden it and set to work moving the churned earth that marked Baudouis' resting place. Eventually the corpse came to light, and the stench made Vince retch.

He pulled it from the ground, set it down and knelt over it. His eyes were watering and he could barely stand to breathe. The corpse had started to decompose already, and the skull grinned as though jeering at him, the hollow eyes threatening dark promises that would have chilled him if he wasn't already so disgusted.

He wiped as much grime from the bone as he could, then scrunched his eyes shut and pressed his lips down.

Cold still teeth surrounded by rough bone. The lack of movement unnerved Vince every bit as much as the texture did, and he fought back the urge to vomit as he tried to work a rhythm into his sickening kiss. He concentrated and concentrated on listening, straining to hear the voice that would tell him to open his eyes, straining and straining to hear.

He heard a scream.

A terrified teenage boy was standing over him, a girl behind him running.

It seemed barely minutes before the guards arrived, but it never struck Vince how strange it was that they could arrive so quickly. As they dragged him off the corpse, he thought he glimpsed Naboo's face somewhere within them.


	5. Hearts Encased in Ice

Here we go, just a little short one to finish it. I know it's not what people have been asking for, but I've had this planned for a fair while, and it makes a lot of sense. And I know there's no justice, but fairy tales are cruel.

And here's a public apology to everyone I haven't reviewed yet. Sorry- I'm spending most of the week with mi girl Katie, who is legend, and has just got into the Boosh. Last night we put on Boosh Live and had tacos and rice krispie cakes. Twas a lovely evening. But I will review you all, promise.

Also, I'm thinking of doing the sequel to Booshy Horror, but it'll probably be a while, as it will require major minor character casting.

* * *

The vehicle rumbled incessantly, making Vince's entire body vibrate with it.

But he didn't care.

His life was over.

Whatever this thing was, this ugly flying contraption, he'd never seen one before. He didn't even know they existed. And now he was on one, and he wouldn't be for much longer, because they'd taken away everything.

He'd been held under house arrest for weeks after they found him with the corpse; his parents had paid for him to avoid the cells in order to try and hush it all up. He didn't know why they'd bothered. They knew he'd be found guilty in the end. He had been caught in the act, for god's sake.

They'd kept him close, but only for reputation's sake. His engagement was called off and his parents refused to speak to him, or even to come near him. He felt unwelcome at family meals, so he kept to his room. On one of the few occasions he ventured out, he'd heard his thirteen-year-old cousin Sandrine tormenting some of the young children. "He actually cut off a face," she'd been saying. "When your parents tell you it's not real, it is. It's him they're trying to protect."

Sandrine was getting to be a bit of a sadist. Weren't they all? He was; why shouldn't she?

He wished they had protected him. It would be unfair and unjust, but he wished they had. But he supposed he'd gotten what he deserved.

There had been a trial. It had been short and pointless, his defence only there out of custom.

His family had disowned him.

He had been sentenced to exile.

* * *

Everything was still at first. And then the rumbling started.

At first Howard was a little afraid. He had never felt or heard this before. When his mind got past the initial shock and started thinking of ideas, his first thought was that perhaps a new fissure was opening in the ice, something rare that might not have happened for hundreds of years, hence him having never experienced it.

But he looked across at the level plane, and there was nothing.

And then it appeared. One of those things. He didn't know what they were, but it was one of those that had brought him here all those years ago. Perhaps, it seemed, someone else had come to share his fate.

He saw a small figure being shoved as he had been from the open door, as the thing moved steadily on without stopping. He came forward, but before he could reach this person and offer assistance, the little figure got to his feet.

He looked around, enthralled. Howard was still fairly far from him, so he could see this little man, but the man seemed not to have noticed him. He was gazing around with an enthralled look on his face. Howard traced his gaze from the gleaming sheen of the icy ground to the rolling white dunes all the way up the smooth columns to the circling purple vapour in the white sky. He heard the man laugh. It rang, muffled yet clear, across the plain, so unbelievably strange in its joyfulness. And then the small man spun around, almost dancing, still smiling and laughing in joy, before he slipped on the ice and fell flat on his arse.

Howard laughed, meaning to do so only to himself, but doing it a little louder than he had meant to. The man looked up and noticed him, and he approached, hand extended.

"Hello," he said as the man took his hand and allowed Howard to help him up.

"Hi," the small man replied, and Howard smiled at his informality with a stranger. He looked around again, his eyes, which Howard noticed were unusually large and a light shade of blue that reminded him of the sky somewhere else, taking in every tiny detail. "Where are we?"

"God only knows," Howard answered.

The man giggled. "You should call it that," he said "'God Only Knows'."

Howard couldn't help but laugh with him.

The little man was looking around again, attention unfaltering. "It's beautiful," he said, voice much quieter, with a tone of what could have been awe.

Howard smiled. "You get used to it."

"That must take a long time," the small man sighed, looking not at Howard but still staring at the landscape. He turned his head to Howard. "I'm sorry, how long have you been here?"

But before Howard could even open his mouth, he was interrupted.

"No, no, I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man looked a little sheepish. Howard just smiled, finding him quite cute in a childlike sort of way.

"I'm Howard Moon, and I've been here nine years," he answered. "And yourself?"

The man smiled, and not as happily as he had seemed moments before. "I'm Princess Vince Noir," was his answer.

"Princess?" Howard asked.

"Yes," replied this Vince. "Why?"

Howard looked him up and down. "It's just… you're a bit of a boy, aren't you."

Vince's buglike eyes were now fixed solely on Howard. Howard found it more than a little creepy.

"You can tell?" Vince asked.

Howard eyed him up a little more. "Well, yeah. You haven't got any tits."

Howard stared as a huge, shyish sort of grin, a paradox if there ever was one, spread across Vince's face. Then he started to laugh, laugh like a loon. Which Howard began to suspect he might be.

"Oh my god!" Vince was crying out. "Oh my god, it's you!"

"What's me?" Howard asked, inching away slowly.

"He knew all along!" Vince laughed, his eyes starting to water and his face to go ruddy in the chilly air. "He set it all up! It was you I've been meant to find!"

Howard wished he had backed away quicker when this strange creature threw his arms around him and squeezed him more tightly than Howard would have thought him capable of. Unable to pry this skinny little limpet off him, Howard decided to try the diplomatic approach.

"Okay, who… what are you on about?"

Vince gave him no answer. He just buried his face in Howard's coat. Howard thought he heard sniffling, and he wondered if his odd new companion might be crying. So he said nothing and tried his best to hold him comfortingly.

After a moment, Vince lifted his head. "Can I love you?" he asked, almost a whisper.

"What?"

"I love you," Vince repeated. "Is that okay?"

Howard just held him closer and rubbed a hand on his shoulder. He didn't know what Vince had gone through to get him exiled, but it seemed to have affected him a lot. Perhaps he was distressed, perhaps he was confused, or maybe he was just too nervous to make himself understood clearly. Seeing only one possible solution, Howard released his hold on him and turned him in the direction of home.

"Give it time," he said, "and we'll see."

And so, in the end, they lived happily ever after.


End file.
